Tale as Old as Time
by klained
Summary: ASoIaF BatB AU. In the Kingdom of the Rock, the royal family has been killed and the land is ravaged by the monstrous Ser Gregor. Lord Mayor Eddard Stark promises to pay anything in his power to the man who can kill the beast. What will happen when that price is his eldest daughter paid to the Hound?


Once upon a time, in the far away Kingdom of the Rock, there lived the powerful King Tywin Lannister, with his three children and three grandchildren. Everyone in the land feared the royal family. Anyone who could not be bought by Lannister gold would be killed by Lannister bannermen. The two fiercest were the Clegane brothers. The elder, Ser Gregor Clegane, was called the Mountain that Rides for his great size. The younger, Sandor Clegane, was called the Hound for the ferocity with which he fought.

One day, the Mountain and the Hound went rabid, killing the Lannister family. The entire land fell into chaos. For ten years the Cleganes ravaged the land with their men, burning fields and killing. Reports traveled from village to village of the monstrous Mountain raping wives, sisters, daughters, and killing any man who tried to stand against him. The only protection was to hide and pray.

"We have hidden long enough," Lord Mayor Eddard Stark declared to an assembly of men. He was dismayed to find so few had come. Most were mere boys, as green as his two eldest sons, and as eager for what they believed to be a glorious death. He only hoped a company of experienced fighters could band together before Jon and Robb could. "For ten years, we as a village have barely scraped by. While we are but one village, there are others suffering as much as we are. Winter is coming and non in the kingdom will survive if we cannot protect out crops. The Hound has disappeared from out land, but the Mountain still rides from Clegane Keep. If we can kill him, we will be free and our daughters safe."

"What about the man who kills him?" a tall, hooded figure called from the back of the assembly. "What does this great hero get?"

Strangers were uncommon under the tyranny of Ser Gregor, but the Lord Mayor was desperate. "I will personally give the man who kills the Mountain anything he asks for, so long as it is in my power to give."

The stranger disappeared after that. Eddard's heart fell when the group of fighters was decided on. Jon, Robb, and their friend Theon were the chosen champions of the village. Two days later, before they could leave, word came that the Mountain and his rats had been killed.

A great celebration was held when the stranger returned, with music and dancing. All the women and girls came out of hiding, with the last barrels of wine and ale. A pretty young woman with wavy red hair and big blue eyes tried to coax him into dance after dance. At last, she managed to drag him into the circle and twirled and spun around him. She smiled brilliantly up at him as she thanked him for the dance, for saving her village, for saving the kingdom. And then she was dragging him onto a dais with the musicians and Lord Mayor.

"Please, might we know who to thank?" Lord Mayor Stark asked.

The stranger glanced at the gathered villagers, so eager to meet their savior, before returning his gaze to the woman as she stood beside Stark. Her eyes glittered brightly and her hands clasped in front of her heart. _She thinks she's in love_, he realized, _with some knight in shining armor_. Reluctantly he pulled his hood away…

To reveal the scarred, burned face of the Hound, Sandor Clegane. The horrified gasps of the villagers were nothing to the red-head's face. Her delighted expectance turned to surprise, then terror, before embarrassedly looking away. He immediately missed her smiles and regretted revealing himself.

"I did promise the man who killed the Mountain anything in my power to give," Stark was stammering. _I want her to smile again_. The Lord Mayor must have mistaken Sandor's silence because he started pleading. "Please, ser, she's my daughter. She's only eighteen. Please, ser, something else."

"Don't call me ser," Sandor growled.

The girl rested her hand on her father's arm. "Papa, if the Hound desires it, I will go." She tried to look up at Sandor before turning away again.

Sandor was surprised she would give herself to him once she knew who he was, but there was little else the village would be able to offer him. "What's your name, girl?" he growled.

"Sansa Stark, s- my lord." She curtsied. At least she learned quickly.

"It will be forever, girl," he warned. "You can't leave."

"I will go forever. I won't leave."

"Chirping little bird repeating everything she hears," he rolled his eyes. "Done."

Taking her by the arm, Sandor made his way to his horse, ignoring her cries of "please wait." She already agreed. It was too late to change her mind. After they left the village, though, her cries turned to weeping. "I didn't get to say goodbye. I'll never see my family again and I didn't get to say goodbye." For the first time in his memory, Sandor felt regret. He tried to harden himself to her tears, to no avail. He had not gotten to say goodbye to his parents or sister, either.

It was nearly sundown when Sansa blinked awake. With a jolt, she realized she was leaning back against the Hound's broad chest and quickly straightened herself to put some distance between them.

"Welcome home," he rasped into her ear as they rode through the gates of a small castle.

The inner walls housed a stable, smithy, armory, kennel, and gatehouse, with the far wall and flanking towers appearing to be the main living quarters. Half the encircled courtyard was occupied by a great glass garden, and the other half was divided into individual training yards. There appeared to be no life in the castle, save for an old, stooped man approaching from the stables.

"Welcome home, m'lord," he said as he took the horse's bridle. His keen eyes studied Sansa as his master dismounted from behind her. "Shall I tell Alys we have a guest and prepare another place for supper?"

The Hound pulled her from the saddle, his grip tight but movements gentle. "The little bird will be living with us. Tell who you must. I'm taking her to her cage at the top of the east tower."

She shuddered. What was at the top of the east tower? What did he mean to do there? Sansa wrapped her arms around herself as she followed him through the courtyard and into the great hall between the towers. Through a door behind the lord's seat, she found herself in a corridor sparsely lit. While there were many sconces to hold a lit torch, most were empty. More shadow than light was cast and she found herself tripping over cracks in the stone or old rushes that had be brushed into piles. After her fourth near-fall, the Hound wrapped his arm around her waist and held her upright.

"The Keep is your home," he said from above her. "You can go anywhere you wish within these walls, except the top of the west tower."

"What's at the top-?"

His movements were quick and Sansa let out a squeak of fright as he pressed her against the corridor wall.

"It's forbidden," he growled. Sansa shook in fear and cast her eyes to the floor. "LOOK AT ME!" he roared. He took her chin in an iron grip and pulled the lit torch from the sconce beside them. He held it close to his face as he knelt before her. "There's a monstrous sight for you. Take a good long look and see what you promised to live with."

She couldn't look away if she wanted to, his grip was so tight. The right side of his face was gaunt with sharp cheekbones and a heavy brow. His nose was large and hooked, and grey eyes watched her study him. The left of his face was a burned and blacked ruin. The ear was gone, with nothing but a stump left. The skin looked hard as leather, with craters and cracks where he moved. The side of his mouth was gone and a bit of bone peeked through at his jaw. Over it all was combed a bit of thin, dark hair, as though he was trying to hide the worst of the damage. It didn't work.

Sansa whimpered in fear and he finally pulled away, replacing the torch. "How do you think it happened? Burning a town? A great battle? Maybe while I killed the king's grandchildren?" he asked. She shook her head, not knowing but uncertain how not to upset him further. "There's a village, or was, not far from here. When I was six, maybe seven, the toymaker wanted my father's favor. He sent up toys for me and Gregor. My brother was five years older than me and too old for toys. I wanted his, a wood knight, all painted up, every joint pegged separate so you could make him fight, so I took it. He found me. Didn't say a word, just took me under his arm and shoved the side of my face into the burning coals of a brazier. It took three men to pull him off me. Afterwards, my father told everyone my bedding had caught fire. Four years later, Gregor was knighted. Ten years after that, he killed the king. He raped the king's daughter and granddaughter. Slaughtered the whole royal family. I didn't. I wasn't even there."

He didn't say anything else, just stared at her, waiting for her to say something. "Ser Gregor was a monster," she whispered.

The Hound threw is head back and roared. Sansa recoiled and would have fallen if she was not already pressed against the wall. "Yes, little bird. Gregor was the monster."

He said nothing else as they climbed the winding stair of the east tower until they reached the top. He opened the door and gestured for Sansa to enter first. The room took up the entire top level of the tower. By the door was a sitting area, with a table and chairs set up by a window and couches circling a cold brazier. On the far end of the room was a large bed, the curtains drawn open. The windows facing the courtyard of the keep were large enough to let in light during the day, while those facing outside were mere slits. An open door between two slits showed a privy room.

She stood in the center of the room, hugging herself in fright again. Did he bring her to this room to rape her? Was that his intent in making her his price? For her to satisfy him?

"You will join me for dinner in an hour," he ordered, then slammed the door between them.

Tears spilled from Sansa's eyes and she flew to the bed and wept. Taken from her family and home, prisoner of a man who was more a beast, not knowing what was to become of her. Everything overwhelmed her and she sobbed until her body hurt. As her weeping slowed, a gentle knocking came at the chamber door.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Alys, dear," a kind woman's voice answered.

When Sansa opened the door, an old woman shuffled in carrying a tray laden with teapot and cups, while a young boy cowered behind her carrying a few logs. The woman set the tray on the table and gestured for the boy towards the brazier. As he worked, the boy kept darting glances at her but kept as much furniture between them as he could. The woman busily poured a couple of tea and laid out a few biscuits.

"Come, dear, you must be famished," she coaxed. As Sansa approached, the woman gently sat her in a chair and pressed the tea into her hands. "Supper is nearly ready, but the master said you hadn't eaten on the way here, so best to have a bite until then." As soon as Sansa took a sip, the woman immediately moved away and bustled about the room, wiping the worst of the dust off the furniture, helping the boy light a fire, setting lit candles into sconces and lamps, and pulling some old clothes out of a chest near the bed. The way she spoke and moved reminded Sansa of the grandmothers of her home village.

The boy, who couldn't have been much more than eight or nine, cautiously approached her and gave a clumsy bow. "I'm Chip," he said shyly.

Sansa tried to smile reassuringly. "Hello, Chip. My name is Sansa."

"Are you really going to stay with us?"

She felt her eyes start to water again and she looked away, not wanting to upset the boy. "That is what I promised, yes."

His tiny hand rested on her at the table. "Gramma says Master Sandor will be better than Ser Gregor was. Gramma says Master Sandor was a good boy and good boys always grow up to be good mans."

"Men, sweet," Alys corrected. "Not mans. But yes. Sandor was a good little boy. Clarence and I remembered him as a boy and were happy when he finally returned and took control of the Keep. I'm sure you miss your family, but you will find family here as well. Things will turn out alright in the end. You'll see." She kindly sat across the table and held Sansa's hand. "Oh, look at me!" she exclaimed. "Sitting down for tea and a chat when there's supper to get on the table. Off we go, Chip."

"I'm coming, Gramma," the boy said. With a final click of the door, Sansa was alone again.

She looked out the window, the sky changing colors and darkening as the sun set just out of view. The Hound said he was not the one to kill the Lannisters, Alys said she was glad to have the Hound as her master. But he had also ordered Sansa to dinner as if she was another of his servants after taking her away from her home and family. If she was allowed to wander the castle as she pleased, was she not also allowed to decide if she would eat dinner with her captor? Resolved, she sat back to finished the pot of tea and plate of biscuits.

An hour after she was escorted to her prison, another knock came at the door. "M'lady Sansa," called a familiar voice. Peeking through the door, she saw it was the old man from the courtyard. "It's time for dinner. I've come to show you the way downstairs."

"No, thank you," she said kindly. "I would rather not eat tonight." The man's eyes widened in surprise. "I'm not particularly hungry."

She carefully closed the door and returned to her chair at the table, hoping no harm came to the man at her refusal to eat with his beastly master. A bellowed "WHAT?" and slamming doors had her fearing for herself. The door rattled their hinges as the Hound beat on it.

"_I thought I told you go come down to dinner_," he bellowed.

Sansa took a deep breath. "I'm not hungry!" she yelled with more conviction than she felt.

"You come out or I'll break down the door!" There were some murmurs outside before the Hound's voice came again. "Will you come down to dinner?"

"No!"

More murmuring "It would give me great pleasure if you would join me for dinner." The beast-like growl had Sansa thinking it would give him more pleasure to have her for dinner. "Please," he added after a pause.

"No, _thank you_!"

"You can't _stay_ in there _forever_!"

"Yes, I _can_!"

"Fine! Then go ahead and _starve_!" The final word came out like a roar of a lion. "If she doesn't eat with _me_, she doesn't eat _at all_," she heard him say to whatever servants had joined him.

Sandor thundered down the stairs, fuming. The little bird had volunteered to come, had all but begged for him to take her. He crossed the corridor behind the great hall, then climbed the stairs up the west tower. He told her he hadn't been the one to kill the Lannisters, that Gregor was the monster. He gave her an entire castle and servants, more than she had grown up with, and peace for her family. Was dinner with him too much to ask? The door to the top room of the west tower slammed against the wall as he opened it.

Much of his parents' furniture was broken and bloodstained from being in Gregor's possession. The family portrait that once hung over the hearth was torn and soot stained, the frame of the canvas nearly shattered. But five pairs of grey eyes still stared at him. Gregor was taller than their father when it was painted and their sister little older than a baby but already starting to look like their mother. The boy that had been Sandor was to the side of the portrait, his damaged face cast in shadow to make him appear whole.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked his mother. The canvas did not respond. "You were happy here, weren't you? How did Father do it? Or did you hate him? Was he as much of a monster as Gregor? Did you fear him as much as the girl fears me?" Sandor angrily wiped at his eyes. "I'm not Gregor. I wouldn't hurt her. Why doesn't she see that?"

With no answers forthcoming, he grabbed the back of a broken chair and hurled it across the room. He knew the truth. She thought he was as much of a beast as Gregor and would never want anything to do with him. Who was he to think he could do something to make her happy?

Sansa's stomach rumbled. Her plan to hide away from the Hound may not have been her best idea. The world was black as pitch out her windows and the castle had grown silent. Hoping it was safe, Sansa slipped out her door and slowly made her way down the tower stairs. At the bottom, she stopped, faced with a pair of corridors at right angles. She knew if she continued down one, she would find the door to the great hall. The other she was uncertain about, but it was more brightly lit. As she made her way down the passage, voices and the clattering of pots and pans could be heard through a half-open door.

All sounds stopped, though, as she carefully opened the door further. The room had counters and tables, a large hearth at one end, and a large metal… thing at the other. She wasn't certain, but she thought this might be a castle version of a kitchen. In the cottage at home, Mama only had a small fire with hooks she could use to bring pots closer or farther from the heat, and the supper table to prepare at. This looked like a monstrous version of her little cooking corner.

The old man and Alys sat at a table in the center as Chip and two or three younger women stood about the room, obviously in the middle of their tasks. And all of them were staring at Sansa.

"I-I apologize," she stammered.

"Nonsense," cooed Alys. She rose and immediately pulled Sansa into the room. "You must be hungry. Of course, you've met Chip and Clarence." She gestured to the boy then the man. "And here we have Arianne, Jeyne, and Tansy." Each woman bobbed her head when her name was spoken. Now that she stood closer than the door, Sansa saw the one named Jeyne was with child and she wondered where the father was. Tansy also had the remnants of a black eye, and Arianne was awkward in the hold she had on the bowl. "Now, as for supper." She trailed off as she all but pushed Sansa into a seat at the table.

"But the master said-," Tansy whispered.

"Oh, never mind," Alys waved her off. "Sandor isn't Gregor and I'm not letting the poor girl go hungry."

Alys began to putter around the kitchen in the same matter she had around Sansa's room, darting back and forth, seeming to know where everything was. A small loaf of bread was produced from a box in the corner, a knife from a block on the counter. A large pot on the metal thing ("It's a stove," Clarence whispered to her) had a thick brown stew that got ladled into the fresh cut trencher. A spoon was pulled from a drawer and the still warm meal was placed in front of Sansa. Her first few bites were tentative, uncomfortable as she was with everyone watching her. Her hunger soon took over, though, and she began to wolf down the rich meal. By the time she was done, even the trencher was consumed.

"Healthy appetite on you," Clarence said. "It's a good sign. The Lady Clegane had a good appetite on herself."

Sansa started. How many more people were hiding in this castle? "Is the Hound married?"

Clarence and Alys laughed. "Oh goodness, no," he answered. "Never thought he'd a mind to marry, not after what his brother done to him. No, I mean his mother. She came to us from far off in the north. Big appetite on her. Gave Lord Clegane two big sons. Daughter would have been a strong one, too, if it wasn't for-" He cut off at a shake of the head from Alys.

"I didn't know your master had a sister."

"Oh, yes, pretty girl. Gregor's wives weren't big eaters though. Tiny things, the third was smaller than you, but I think not eating had more to do with the man they married than their size."

"You talk about the – about Sandor as if you've known him his whole life."

"Oh, we did, me and Alys. We were here when the children were born, and lived to see two of them die. But Sandor was a good boy growing up, until he ran off. It's good to have him home."

Sansa turned to Tansy. "And have you known him long as well?"

The girl looked terrified, so Alys answered for her. "No, dear. Arianne, Tansy, and Jeyne came to us within the past few years and only got to meet Sandor when he came to claim the keep. Chip had never met him, either." She yawned. "It's getting late, darling. Are you finished?" Sansa nodded and Alys took her spoon and platter to the washbasin. With a quick scrub, the pieces were laid out to dry. "Off to bed, now, dear." She gave Sansa's cheek a grandmotherly pat before leading Chip out of the kitchen. Sansa bid the rest of the company a good night and made her own way back upstairs.

It was remarkably easy the next few days for Sansa and Sandor to avoid each other. Every morning he rode out, looking for the last of Gregor's men or checking on neighboring villages, ensuring they were rebuilding after being ravaged. Sansa would wait until she saw him leave before joining the staff in the kitchens for breakfast before helping about the castle. Some days, she helped Jeyne and Tansy clean and mend tapestries that had been nearly destroyed across ten years. Others, she helped Alys and Arianne in the glass garden, pulling weeds and watering the herbs. As the work grew quiet, Sansa would sing or tell stories her mother had taught her.

She never saw Sandor return each day. He often stood just outside the door, listening to her voice rise and fall. He knew someone should have been punished for her eating without him. Stealing a peek, he would see Sansa's eyes alight to whatever story she told and he couldn't stand the thought of letting her starve. Once, he caught her laughing at some comment the pregnant one – Joy? Jeyne? – made about a tale. Her face could light the room she was in, her laugh tinkling off the walls. His very being was filled with a mix of desire and jealousy. He wanted nothing more than to hear her laugh, to see her smile again, and to be the one who caused it. Why was the staff more worthy of her joy than him? When would she learn he was not the monster she thought he was? He knew that answer was never.

Sandor made his way to the west tower without making his presence known. In his chambers, he threw himself across his bed, tired from the day of riding and angry at himself. His mind wandered back to Sansa. She was beautiful in her own right, hair like fire and eyes like water, tall and slender and pale. She was everything he was not. Her smile and laughter, though, gave her a divinity unmatched by the Maiden. He wondered what it would be like for her to knowingly smile back at him.

His mind wandered back to the day they met, to the celebration where she willingly gave herself to him. Her eyes had sparkled in the morning sun and her smile dazzled. He imagined her smiling that way again, knowing who she smiled at, and his groin tightened. Closing his eyes, he unlaced his trousers and grabbed his cock. He wondered what his name would sound like on her lips, giggled or said with joy. He squeezed and pulled as he pictured standing before him, smiling, saying his name, resting her hand in his.

Sansa stretched her arms and back as Jeyne and Tansy made their way to the kitchens to help with supper. At this time of day, she was left to her own devices and occasionally found herself wandering the castle. Most of the time she returned to her chamber and worked on the old dresses she found. They were pretty, but many did not fit her. Until the Hound finished his supper, she worked away at adjusting the clothes to fit her. Then she would go back downstairs and join the servants for supper in the kitchen.

Today she decided to explore the west tower. Why on earth would he banish her from the top room? What could be worse than the destruction she found through the rest of the castle? She gradually climbed the stairs, resolving herself to find the answer and leave before the Hound returned. The door at the top was slightly ajar and moved easily for her. At first glance, it appeared to be a chamber like hers, though as destroyed as the rest of the castle. Just inside the door stood a family portrait, the canvas torn and frame broken. Something in the faces, though, seemed familiar to her. Before she could study it further, a noise drew her attention to where she knew the bed to be. A partition hid it from her and she peeked around it.

The Hound lay across the bed, one arm over his eyes while the other hand moved in his lap. His fist moved rapidly up and down his manhood, the head purple and leaking. As she watched, she saw the tops of his thighs tighten and his hips buck up into his fist. The sight caused her stomach to clench and something lower to throb. She looked back to his face as he moaned out. His jaw hung slack, and his face relaxed. He looked so different from the fierceness she had seen when he took her from her home, different from the anger as he told her about his brother. The unmarred side of his face almost looked handsome. Sansa felt her own face start to warm as she studied him.

The silence was broken when he groaned, "Sansa." She gasped in surprise and backed away, thinking he had seen her. When she backed into the wood partition and caused it to rattle, she was truly found out as the Hound jumped up on the bed and stared at her in surprise. "What are you doing here?" he snarled angrily.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered.

"I thought I told you never to _come_ here!" He rose from the bed and tucked himself away.

"I didn't mean any harm."

"Get out," he growled. He charged at her. "_Get out_!"

Frightened at his bellow, Sansa ran out the door and down the steps, past Clarence. She ignored him calling her name as she ran through the Great Hall and into the courtyard. The gate lay open before her. Without another look back, she ran through it and made for the woods off the road.

Infuriated, Sandor covered his face with both hands and breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. When he looked up, his eyes locked with his mother's in the portrait. "Why was she here?" he asked her. "I told her not to. The one rule I gave her was not to come here. The entire castle is hers to do with as she pleased. Why here?"

A tapping at the door drew him from his musings. "Master!"

Sandor was immediately at attention. The old man never looked so upset before. "What is it, Clarence?"

"The girl, m'lord, Sansa." He was breathing heavily, as though he had run. "She's gone. She ran away."

His anger quickly changed to panic. There was word that some of Gregor's men were still alive and skulking around the keep. "Did you see where?" Clarence shook his head, still breathing heavily. "Sit, rest."

Sandor ran out the door and down to the courtyard. The little bird couldn't have gone too far, but he'd find her faster if he rode Stranger. He saddled the stallion as quickly as he could and kicked him into a gallop out the gate. The autumn rains had left the ground muddy and he was able to easily pick out her prints heading for the woods. He followed, hoping he could find her in time, that no danger came to her before then.

Sansa's breathing grew labored as she darted through the trees. In her fear addled mind, it seemed safer than the road. Now, she was tired and lost. Her brothers were better at finding their way than she was. Locked away from view for most of her life, she had learned to do little outside and all her skills rested on cooking, cleaning, and sewing. She squeaked as she tripped over a fallen branch. The palms of her hands stung where they scraped against a rock and her dress was muddy. As she tried to stand, she gave another whine, this time in pain. Her ankle hurt and she couldn't put any weight on it. As she felt and squeezed it, it seemed to sell under her fingers.

She was so focused on the hurt she didn't hear anyone approach her until it was too late. One hand clamped over her mouth and nose, suffocating her, as another held a knife tightly to her throat. She felt a tiny trickle of blood and knew any movement would be her last.

"Aren't you a pretty one?" The man smacked his lips by her ear. "Where are you coming from? The keep? You much belong to Ser's brother. I don't remember anyone as pretty as you there. Ser certainly would have shared you." His hand moved from her mouth to her chest, squeezing her breast and pinching her nipples.

Sansa whimpered. "Please let me go," she begged. "Please don't hurt me."

"Hurt you?" He sounded genuinely taken aback. "I only want what was promised to me. Riches and wenches. Ser died without giving me my riches. Only fitting I get myself at least one wench." He dug his hand into the neck of her dress and began to paw at Sansa's breasts in earnest. The blade at her throat kept her from doing anything beyond crying in terror and shame.

Sandor saw Sansa trip and watched in horror as one of Gregor's men fell on her. Stranger was already galloping flat out, but he still spurred for more speed, needing to stop what he dreaded would come next. When he was nearly on them, he leapt from the horse and landed on top of the girl's assailant. He quickly pulled himself loose of the man and looked for Sansa. Just as he pulled her behind him, a blinding pain shot from his thigh. Looking down, the handle of a knife stuck from his leg. With a sharp yank, he removed it and drove it home in the man's gut. Twisting and pulling upwards, he watched the man gurgle, cough, and finally die.

"Are you hurt?" he asked as he turned. Sansa backed away, clearly still frightened. "Did he hurt you?" Sandor repeated. He stepped towards her then felt his leg collapse from under him. With a curse, he gripped his thigh, trying to stop the flow of blood. Having nothing else on hand, Sandor pulled off his tunic and pressed it to the wound, wincing at the pressure.

A small, delicate hand joined his large, calloused one in holding the cloth down. Carefully, Sandor stood, keeping his weight on his good leg, and limped towards his horse. The girl ducked under his arm and took him by the waist to help keep him up. Stranger knelt on command and the girl mounted behind him, holding tightly as if she meant to keep him from falling.

Around the Hound's great, hulking form, Sansa saw Clarence trotting into the courtyard at their arrival. She felt a pang of guilt to have caused the old man any form of distress, but there was no time for regrets now.

"Clarence," she called. "Hurry to the kitchens. Tell Alys we need hot water and clean bandages. We might also need strong thread and a thick needle. Your master has been hurt."

"Aye, Lady Sansa. On my way."

"Ordering my servants around?" the Hound rasped at her.

"Trying to help you," she corrected.

He was so heavy they almost fell to the ground when she tried to help him dismount. He leaned more heavily on her towards the kitchens than he had in the forest and the going was slow. By the time they were in the warm room, Alys already had a pile of bandages ready, and a large kettle steaming on the stove. With Clarence's help, she helped the Hound onto a bench near the fire, his wounded left leg stretched out. Jeyne, Arianne, and Tansy stood on the far end of the room, pretending to still be working on supper, but casting nervous glances towards their master. Alys poured some hot water into a deep bowl for Sansa, who took it and some cloths to clean his leg. When she turned back, the Hound was bent over, wiping away at the injury with the dirty, bloody tunic.

"Oh, don't do that," Sansa admonished, worried it would become infected. She set the bowl on the floor before him and dipped the cloth in. He eyed her warily and started to pull away. "Hold still." She pressed the hot cloth to his thigh and he screamed in pain.

"That _hurts_!" he bellowed.

"If you'd hold still, it wouldn't hurt as much!"

"If _you_ hadn't _run away_, this wouldn't have happened!"

"If you hadn't _frightened_ me, I _wouldn't_ have run away!"

Sandor froze for a moment, realizing that for the first time she was talking back to him instead of cowering in fear. And that fear was his fault. She pressed the cloth back to his leg and he winced. In his haze, he tried to focus on something, anything, but the pain.

"That's my mother's dress." He didn't know why he said it, but when she looked up he noticed how the blue perfectly matched her eyes.

"There's nothing else for me to wear," she said uncertainly.

"It suits you."

Sansa's face reddened and she turned her attention back to his leg. Sandor watched as she worked. The fire in the hearth made her red hair glitter and shine. Without intending to, he ran his fingers through her hair, feeling the silk of it, tucking it behind her ear so he could see her high cheekbones, still pink. Then he saw her reach for the needle and thread. He gripped the bench with both hands, gritted his teeth, and turned away, bracing for the pain. Instead, her fingers threaded through his hair and gently turned her back to him.

"Drink this." Her voice was soft and he found that he wanted to do whatever she said. Sandor drank deeply from the bottle, hardly feeling the burn of the firewine. His leg already started to feel numb when she pulled the bottle away and her stitching felt like nothing more that a bit of pressure in his thigh. "By the way," she added. "Thank you. For saving my life."

She looked at him so earnestly he felt himself drowning in the pools of her eyes. "You're welcome," was all he could think to say.

Over the next few days, a tentative peace had come between them. Sandor could not climb the stairs or ride Stranger with his leg, so was forced to spend his time on the ground floor of the Keep. Sansa began to join him at meals and would shyly curtsy to him as they passed in the halls. Few words were spoken between them, though, and Sandor still found himself craving her smiles.

One the first day of the autumn snows, he found her in the courtyard, playing with the boy. When she wasn't spinning him, they ran back and forth with their mouths open to catch the flakes. Giggling and exhausted, they both collapsed and waved their arms and legs to make snow fairies.

"I want to do something for her," he told Alys. "But she won't talk to me. I don't know what she likes."

"The girls enjoy Lady Sansa's stories," the old woman answered. Sandor ignored the honorific. The servants knew Sansa was not a member of the nobility, but the title suited her far better than it would ever fit on him. "And she learned her letters from her father."

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, knowing what the woman was suggesting. "Gregor hasn't burned it?"

"Might be a bit dusty, but he never had a reason to go in there."

Sandor turned his attention back to Sansa. "Have the girls clean it. I'll give it to her when they're done."

"As you say, m'lord." The woman hesitated. "About Jeyne, though."

"Which is she?"

"The blonde one, with child. The babe is nearly due and there's no one but me to deliver it."

"I sent for a maester. I don't know if the Citadel will send one after Gregor killed the last one."

"The last fourteen." Sandor rolled his eyes. Of course Gregor killed fourteen maesters in almost twenty years. "And what's to become of the girl and the child?"

"Where's the father?"

"She doesn't know who it was. Your brother and most of his men raped her often. She only hopes the father's dead rather than run off."

Sandor remembered. When he came to kill his brother, Gregor had been sitting in the Great Hall, the pregnant girl's head in his lap while another was taking her from behind, both men laughing. She had screamed when Gregor's head dropped onto her, blood from Chiswyck in her hair and on her dress. How could she have known the fearsome Hound had not come to rape her as well? The other two girls were cowering in the kitchen, dresses torn, one with an arm at an awkward angle.

"The girl can stay here with her child. I have no reason to get rid of her. If a maester ever comes, I want him to look after her pregnancy. And the one with the arm."

"Arianne, m'lord." Alys left then and Sandor continued to watch Sansa playing with Alys' grandson, Chip. The boy had been just as scared when he arrived and this may have been the first time the child had ever smiled in his short life. From where he stood, Sandor could see the boy had a tooth or two missing and only hoped they were milk teeth, rather than the child being hurt.

Sansa noticed Sandor did not use his walking stick when he approached her one day. He was still limping but did not show any outward signs of pain.

"I'm glad to see you are getting better, my lord." She gave her best curtsy. The way he looked at her made her face warm. She was wearing the blue dress again and remembered how he said it suited her.

"Chirping your courtesies, little bird?" he asked, but in the dim light of the corridor his grey eyes seemed to dance with amusement. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. "I'm not here to talk about my leg. I want to show you something." Sansa's interest was piqued. "If I may," he added.

At her nod, the Hound held out his arm to escort her down the gallery. Through the Great Hall, he led her through another door and down another, shorter gallery that led parallel to the courtyard. At the end, he stopped and turned to her.

"You have to close your eyes."

Sansa stared at him a moment before complying. His large, rough hands delicately engulfed hers and gently tugged her forwards. She felt some warmth from a small fire to one side and a bit of light from a window shone through her lids on the other.

"Open your eyes," he directed.

The first thing she saw was his grey depths watching her with something she almost wanted to identify as hope. Then, behind him, she saw shelves of books. Turning her head to one side, then the other, she spied more books, with a shelf of scrolls by a window. There were comfortable looking chairs and couches by the burning brazier and under windows and by lamps. She gripped his hands in delight before releasing him to circle in place, taking in her surroundings. Above the door was the Clegane crest, yellow with three black hounds. A worn lioness skin served as a rug before a couch at the brazier.

"So many books," she whispered.

"My father's maester once told me 'if you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.'"

"It's beautiful," Sansa sighed. She had never seen a library, only heard it was what lords used to store their books. Her father had so few he kept them in a trunk and pulled them out for only an hour a day to teach Sansa and her siblings their letters.

"It's yours, if you'll have it." Sandor tried to hide how anxious he felt. What if it wasn't a library she wanted? She was a village mayor's daughter, what would she do with so many books? He was caught up in berating himself to the point that he did not see her fly at him until her arms were around his neck. Only by instinct was he able to catch her before she dropped to the ground in front of him.

"Thank you," she said. He couldn't see if she was smiling, but decided he liked her hugs just as much.

A new routine began to develop between the two of them. Over breakfast, Sansa would read aloud from whatever book she had found. Some were simple stories, meant to help young children learn to read. Others were more difficult and Sandor would sit beside her, helping her with the longer words and explaining the ones she did not know. After breakfast, he would follow her to whatever task she set herself for the day. In the glass garden, he obeyed her commands perfectly in weeding the beds or pruning the shrubs. As a surprise, he plucked a blooming blue rose he found and broke off all the thorns before presenting it to her. She finally smiled openly at him when she threaded it through her braid. Inside, he would move broken furniture or hang any tapestry she pointed at. Then, after supper, they would retire to the library together, where she would read aloud and he would watch the way the fire of the brazier played off her skin. And, finally, each night, he would escort her to the corridor behind the Great Hall and bid her goodnight, watching her wind her way up the steps of the east tower until she was out of sight before he turned towards his own room.

"Why is there no maester here?" Sansa asked one day over breakfast.

"The Citadel is most like tired of Gregor killing them," Sandor shrugged. He did a quick calculation in his head. "I sent for a new one several months ago, when I took the castle."

"Oh." She picked at her toast, a sign he had quickly learned meant she wanted to say something but uncertain of his reaction. Sandor reached over and took her left hand in his right, waiting for her to continue. "I sent for one a fortnight ago. I told them Gregor was gone and that any maester who came would be safe." Her wide blue eyes looked up at him imploringly. "I didn't tell them you were master now."

He felt the ruined corner of his lip twitch. It was clever of her to avoid any mention of him. No maester would want to serve under a Clegane, no matter that the real monster was dead. He was still the Hound. "Thank you," he answered. "If a maester does come, it may be better for you to meet him and explain."

"He's due today." His head snapped to her and he stared. "I said there were maids here hurt by the Mountain and his men and a maester was greatly needed. I got a response saying to expect him today. I can have him look at your leg first, make sure it is healing well."

Her words sounded more and more uncertain as she spoke and Sandor realized she was afraid she had made him angry. He gave her hand a squeeze and looked away, returning to his eggs. "Have him look at Jeyne and Arianne first. Jeyne must be near due and Arianne's arm might still be fixed." He looked side-eyed at her. "I'm an old dog, little bird. Beasts don't need looking after."

He saw her look away with a small frown on her face. "Don't say that," she mumbled so low he almost didn't hear.

True to her word, the maester did arrive that day and was quartered in a room just above the Great Hall. Sandor kept to his room that day and watched the arrival from the window of his tower room. The maester was young and handsome, someone who could easily turn any woman's head. Sansa met him in the yard and Sandor could see the young man was focused solely on her. Sandor knew maesters took vows of chastity and service, but they were still men. He hated the attentions he imagined this one would shower on the little bird. Why would she give an ugly beast of a dog her smiles when there was a young, handsome maester instead? A couple of hours before sunset, a timid tapping at his door broke him from his thoughts.

"My Lord?" the little bird called meekly through the door. Not wanting to startle her, he slowly opened the door and stood in the gap created, blocking her view of the room. "Maester Owen wishes to meet you."

Sandor felt the invisible knife in his gut twist. "Does he know who his new lord is?"

"He does. I told him he has nothing to fear from you." That caught him by surprise. The frightened little bird telling _others_ not to fear him? "He's already checked on Jeyne and examined Arianne's arm. Your leg is the only injury left to check."

"What about the one with the eye?" he stalled. An irrational part of him said the longer he didn't meet the maester, the longer Sansa could be his.

"Tansy?" She titled her head quizzically. "She only had a black eye. It went away ages ago."

"And you? Are you well?"

Sansa giggled and took a step closer to him, placing her hand on his arm. "I'm well and healthy. But your leg worries me. I'd like him to see it, make sure I did you no damage."

His arm burned where her hand rested and air fled from his lungs as she looked at him so earnestly. "The knife did more damage than you, little bird." His voice sounded choked to his own ears and he cleared his throat before continuing. "But I will see this maester for you."

Her cheeks pinked and she turned away, grinning. Like an obedient pet, he followed her down the steps and across the gallery above the Great Hall until they stood outside the maester's door. The whole walk, she chirped away about Jeyne's pregnancy and the new maester, though Sandor later could never remember what exactly she said.

Sansa was relieved when Maester Owen declared the Hound's leg was healing properly, though the knife had done permanent damage. In celebration of his health, she offered to make lemon cakes for after supper. She giggled nervously when he raised his one good eyebrow at her. She explained the lemon tree in the glass garden had finally started to produce some fruit and the cakes were her favorite sweet to make. An odd, soft look came across his face and he nodded for her to go.

Alys had never made lemon cakes before, so Sansa was in charge for once. At each additional ingredient, Chip dipped his fingers in for a taste, curious at why she was so excited. Arianne fetched anything she was asked for, but accidentally dropped the sack of flour. The resulting cloud of powder had them all laughing. After brushing off most of the mess, Sansa returned to work. Chip ate half the first batch even though it burned his tongue, so she immediately went to work on the second.

They were all giggling over a story about when the Hound was a boy and gotten stuck under a pile of armor when everyone around Sansa suddenly grew quiet. Turning to the door, she found the topic of Clarence's story watching them. Or, rather, watching her. She felt her heart hammering in her chest. He watched her with such intensity it made the place between her legs throb. Without preamble, he strode across the kitchen, past everyone pretending to be busy, and wiped her cheek with his thumb. When he pulled it away, she saw it was coated in powder.

"There was a small accident with the flour," she explained. He had been so kind to her she knew she had no reason to fear him. Then why did she feel so nervous now?

"Best be careful," he said seriously. "I can't always be there to save you, little bird."

Sansa could only nod as she gazed into his eyes. Despite his tone, there was something in the grey that could almost be mistaken for mirth. He stepped closer to her and leaned in. Some part of Sansa thought the Hound meant to kiss her. She knew she should be scandalized, that a man would take advantage of her. Instead, her heart fluttered and her hands flitted slightly, not knowing what to do with them. One of his hands stayed at her cheek and the other reached behind her. As he leaned ever closer, Sansa's eyes slipped closed.

And then he pulled away. Her eyes snapped open and she saw he had half a cake sticking out of his mouth. Her jaw could only drop in surprise. Did he really only come to the kitchen for a cake? Why had he not asked her to move if she was in his way? The sound of Alys scolding Sandor for spoiling his supper brought her back to the present and Sansa quickly turned back to her work. She tried to hide her shaking hands through stirring the bowl and pouring dollops into the mini cake pans. From the corner of her eye, she saw him leave the kitchen and she was finally able to draw a deep breath.

Supper was as simple as always, something Sandor preferred. There was no need for a large, elaborate meal, when the rest of the kingdom starved. Sansa's lemon cakes, though, were delicious. The one he stole from the kitchen was good, though he had craved the woman standing in front of them instead. It was only Clarence clearing his throat to remind Sandor that they were not alone. Now there was a small pile sitting between them to share. And they still weren't alone.

After Sansa left to bake, the maester happened to mention that he had some skill with a citole and singing. Without thinking, Sandor invited the handsome man to play during supper. Now he sat at one of the tables, picking at the strings. He noticed how her leg seemed to bounce under the table and she kept darting glancing to the maester the entire meal. He scowled jealously. After she finished her second lemon cake, she turned to him.

"Can we dance?" she enthused.

He stared at her left hand resting easily on his right and cleared his throat. "I never learned to dance, little bird."

"I can teach you," she chirped. "I don't know the high, courtly dances anyways. Only the ones we had in my village."

He couldn't say no to the glitter in her eyes and so he nodded and let her pull him to the floor. The maester played a slower song at Sansa's direction. Then her hands were on his, pulling his arms around her. She talked him through each step, leading him in slow circles around the room. After a few circuits through the steps, he began to lead her himself and a smile spread across Sansa's face as she openly gazed at him. Surprised, Sandor stumbled and stepped on her foot, breaking the moment. She bravely refrained from limping as she bid him a good night and made her way to the corridor and her room.

Sansa giggled and spun in circles every time she remembered the dance. Sandor had been awkward and was not comfortable, but he had learned for her. The memory of his warm arms and large hands wrapped around her coaxed her into sweet dreams each night. The thought of his almost kissing her woke her each morning with a smile. She wondered at this change, at the fear vanishing completely since he had saved her in the woods. It was an effort for him to control his temper around her, but she had begun to see she had never been in danger from him.

One morning, when he did not come down for breakfast, she grew worried. She took the stairs to his tower two at a time and hurriedly pounded at his door. "My Lord, are you well?" she anxiously called.

"Of course I'm well, little bird. Why would you think otherwise?" he answered when he opened the door.

Suddenly, Sansa felt foolish. Why would she think otherwise? He had only ever been the image of health, even as she tended to his leg. "You didn't come down for breakfast. I thought-" What? What sign had he given that she should worry?

"Buggering hells," he cursed and looked away. "I'm sorry. I had forgotten." He looked into the room, and then opened the door wider. "Come in. I want to show you something."

Sansa was cautious, but entered to room anyways. Much of the mess and broken furniture had been cleared away. The remaining furniture in the sitting area was sparse, but suited him. Only a couch sat by the brazier, with a table and a single chair by a window facing the courtyard. The wooden partition still hid his bed, but it was now covered in an intricate tapestry of a blond haired woman sitting between a lion and a unicorn.

"Here," he said low, placing his hand at the small of her back to guide her.

She felt her face warm at his touch, but followed him to the table by the window. Laid out was the torn family portrait she had seen before. The wooden frame was gone and the canvas laid flat across the table. The tears had been meticulously lined up, but not fixed.

"This is my mother." He pointed to the woman, his other arm still wrapped around Sansa's waist. "That's my sister she's holding. And that's my father. And this boy is me." His finger ghosted above the canvas, pausing at each face before finishing on a boy not much older than Chip. She noticed he did not point out the older boy, larger than even the father in this portrait.

Sansa studied the little boy, looking for a resemblance to the man who stood beside her, who held her. The eyes were the same color, but showed more fear than anger. His hair was shorter, not yet long enough to cover his face. The nose was just beginning to display his characteristic hook, and there was a small birthmark on his neck where she had noticed one the night they danced.

Now he stood beside her, waiting for her to say something, though she didn't know what.

"Your mother was beautiful," she tried. She felt Sandor move closer to her, felt his arm tighten slightly.

"She was. My whole life I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. And she loved to sing. I never heard singing as beautiful as hers until…" He paused and pulled away from her. "I don't know when, but Gregor destroyed the portrait. I know you have some skill with a needle. Can you fix this?"

Sansa studied the painting carefully, pulling back a corner to peek at the material. The rips were not clean and she had no thread that matched the paint. "I can close the tears. It won't be perfect but these bits will still be intact."

Sandor delicately rolled up the painting. "Please," he whispered as he held it out to her. "If you don't mind. I will be in your debt."

"Of course," Sansa nodded, voice equally soft. "It would be my pleasure." She held it gingerly and wished she had a reason to stay. "You put me in her old room, didn't you?"

"Yes." She noticed he stepped close to her again, but was unable to look her in the eye. "My parents had an arranged marriage and my father gave her that room so she had a place of her own. A place to be happy." His hand came up and rested at Sansa's cheek, finally looking at her. She leaned into his gentle palm. "I want you to be happy, Sansa. Here. With me."

"I am," she smiled, and then her face fell as her attention returned to the painting in her hands.

"What is it?"

"I miss my family. If I could see them, let them know I'm safe…" Her voice trailed off.

Sandor's heart dropped. It was cruel of him to take her away. He knew that then and knew it more so now. Of course she would want to leave him for her family. He dropped his hand and stepped away from her, hating the distance between them. He couldn't look in her eyes any longer and turned towards the window.

"Go home," he said simply.

"What?" she whispered, clearly surprised.

"Go home."

"You trust me to come back?"

"No. I expect I'll never see you again. But I release you."

The fleeting touch of her hand against his spine still burned when the door clicked shut behind her. He watched the courtyard all day. Just before midday, he watched Clarence bring a horse from the stables and help Sansa climb into the saddle, a bag draped over her shoulders. As she disappeared out the gates, he didn't bother to stop the tears.

Sansa rode hard, wanting to see her family as soon as she could. She had so much to tell them: how what they knew about Sandor was wrong, how he was kind and generous, how she had grown to care for them. She often checked the straps of her bag, not wanting to lose her precious cargo. No matter what he had said about releasing her, she meant to return. As the Keep grew smaller and disappeared in the distance, though, she slowed the horse. Her heart grew heavier with every mile she crossed. Was it a mistake to ask to see her family? What if he turned her away at her return? She checked her bag again. He had to let her return if only for what she carried.

The sun had long set by the time she rode up to the door of her family home. Excitedly, she dismounted and knocked on the door, anxious to see everyone again. After a pause, her mother opened the door and froze, staring in surprise.

"Hello, Mama," Sansa breathed. "I'm home."

Catelyn Stark said nothing but pulled her daughter into a tight hug. Sansa returned it, missing the feel of her mother's arms wrapped around her. A voice called from within and she was finally released to find the rest of her family coming around the door to see who the visitor was. She soon found herself buried in a sea of arms all trying to hug her at once. Sansa giggled and laughed as she held each of her siblings tightly. And then she came to her father.

"Papa," she cried happily, then stopped as he only stared coldly at her. "I've missed you. I've missed everyone."

"Why are you here, Sansa?" The familiar sound of fear laced his tone.

"Sandor let me go, Papa."

"That beast let you go?" Arya asked with incredulity.

"But he's not a beast," argued Sansa. "He's gentle." She grasped her mother's hand. "Oh, he's so kind. I have so much to tell you all!"

"And you can," Catelyn said as she took the bag from Sansa. "Just not tonight. It's late."

Still worn from her ride, she easily fell asleep next to her sister as they had done for years. The following morning, Arya's kicking in her sleep woke Sansa and she quietly made her way downstairs. Her whole life, she had thought this house was the largest in the world, holding three bedrooms above a sitting room with a table and cooking hearth. Now, it seemed like a tiny cottage, every room always cramped. As glad as she was to see her family, she missed the solitude she could have at the Keep. In the noise of her family moving about the house, she missed Sandor's quiet presence.

"Sansa, come here," her father called quietly when she reached the foot of the steps. Sansa was tentative as she sat beside him, uncertain of what he meant to discuss. "Why did the Hound let you go, dear one?"

"I told him I missed you and he told me to come home. Oh, Papa, Sandor isn't the monster everyone makes him out to be. It was all the Mountain that Rides. Ser Gregor is the one who killed the Lannisters and attacked all the villages. Sandor didn't do any of it!"

"But he didn't stop it," Eddard interrupted. "He was sworn to the Lannisters but you say his brother killed them. Did he try to save them? If he is a good man, where has he been these past ten years?"

Sansa tried to remember but Sandor had not told her. "I don't know."

"Not protecting the royal family when it was his sworn duty is just as dishonorable as being the one to wield the blade." He studied his daughter quietly. "Was the Hound ever dishonorable to you?"

"Never!" Sansa flushed, knowing what her father meant, but a part of her wished he had. The thought made her face burn hotter. "Sandor would never hurt me."

"Did he really release you from your promise? He said it was forever."

"He did, Papa, but I still intend to keep my promise. I am happy with him."

Lord Mayor Stark sadly nodded his head and said nothing further.

Over the days, Sansa mended the torn canvas as she told stories about her stay in Clegane Keep. She talked about Chip and his mischievous pranks. She talked about Jeyne's sweet smiles, Arianne's eagerness to learn to cook, Tansy's easy laughter. She mentioned Alys grandmothering everyone, Clarence stealing whatever sweets or berries Alys was cooking with before kissing his wife. And she talked about Sandor: she talked about the night they danced, about how he helped her in the glass garden and gave her a library and listened to her read. And as she told all these stories, she carefully mended a torn canvas with her tiniest, most delicate stitches.

Her family sat around her at the table, in the sitting room, in the garden as she told her stories. They asked few questions, but her youngest brothers were enthralled. Bran and Rickon begged her for stories about the Hound. Arya pretended not to care but Sansa saw her still listening intently. It was her eldest brothers, Jon and Robb, and her father who looked most thunderous at her stories.

At the end of a fortnight, the portrait was mended and Sansa surprised herself when she wished for home and realized this cottage with her family wasn't it.

"I must go back to him, Mama," she explained. "I promised I would stay with Sandor. And I miss him."

"I know, dear one," her mother soothed. "But what does he intend for you? Your father says you have not been dishonored yet, but it's only a matter of time."

"No, Mama! He would never do that! I think he was lonely." She traced the image of the baby girl on the canvas. "He wasn't as fortunate in his childhood that I was. I was so lucky to have you and Papa and all my brothers. Even Arya. Sandor didn't really have a family who cared about him. At least not for very long."

"But can a man who's never had love know how to give it?"

"I think he can learn."

Catelyn hugged her elder daughter. "I'll miss you, dear one, more than anything. But I've heard you talking about him." She cupped her daughter's cheek. "If you feel you must be with him, you have my blessing."

"But Papa-"

"Never mind your father. His job as your father is to worry about you." She kissed her daughter on the forehead. "In the morning, go to him."

The following morning, Sansa bid her family goodbye. The hugs from her father and elder brothers were strained. Arya snuck her a knife with the instruction to "use it if the Hound tries to hurt you." Bran and Rickon both gave her hugs and kisses and asked her to let them visit. Sansa laughed and promised to ask. Her mother gave her one last hug and kiss before Sansa was mounted and riding towards the Keep and Sandor and home.

Sandor saw no reason to leave his room at the top of the west tower. Sansa was not waiting for him downstairs so there was no point to leaving. After the first couple days, Alys had tried to talk to him but he locked the door on her instead. Tansy or Clarence began to bring his meals to him in silence. At the end of the first sennight after Sansa left, he heard a woman's screams through the Keep and his supper was late. Jeyne had given birth, Clarence volunteered when he finally brought the tray up, and it was a boy. Sandor didn't respond, picturing a boy with black hair and grey eyes holding a small child face down in a fire. Before the end of the first fortnight after Sansa left, Maester Owen came to him.

"You are unwell, My Lord," the man said.

"It doesn't matter," Sandor grumbled, still staring out the window to the courtyard, still watching the gate she had ridden through.

"It does matter, My Lord. The kingdom is truly at peace for the first time in decades; your monstrous brother is gone. His men are scattered or dead. This is all thanks to you, My Lord." Sandor did not answer. "She will come back." They both knew who the maester meant. "I saw the way she looked at you, heard the way she talked about you. She will return."

Sandor was too weary to try to believe. "She has no reason to. She wanted her family and now she has it."

"Then why did you let her leave, if you believed she would not return?"

"Because I love her." The words slipped more easily from his lips than anything before.

"Does she know, My Lord? Did you tell her?"

Sandor hated that his growl came out more like a whimper. "Get out. Leave me."

Fifteen days after Sansa left, just before sundown, he spied a flash of auburn hair in the courtyard. His feet carried him down the winding steps of his tower and he cursed his leg at every step. Through the lord's door into the Great Hall he froze. Across the hall, framed by the open doors, stood the vision of his little bird. He tried to tell himself she wasn't there, that she hadn't come home, she wasn't smiling at him.

"You're back," was the only thing he could say.

She nodded, grinning. "I came home," she answered.

Sansa wanted nothing more than to feel his arms around her again and she ran up the hall, around the high table, and flew into Sandor's arms. She buried her face in his neck, breathing in that scent of him that she had first caught all those ages ago when they danced. Her face hurt from her grin as his arms circled her and pulled her flush to his chest.

"I missed you," she whispered over and over. "I missed you so much. I missed you."

Sandor didn't answer her, beyond tightening his hold, and Sansa knew he felt the same. Cautiously, not wanting to startle him, she pulled back and placed a hand on either of his cheeks. Watching him, waiting for any sign he wished her to stop, she stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his. She relaxed into him as she felt him return the kiss.

He could not believe she was in his arms, kissing his ruined mouth as though he was all she desired. He also could not bear the thought of the only other option: that she wasn't there, that he had gone mad and imagined her feel and smell and taste. So he pulled her tighter to him, kissed her deeply, ran his hands down the swell of her hips and up into the silk of her hair.

When they at last broke apart for air, Sansa released a breathy laugh. Sandor kissed across her jaw, down her throat, to the tip of her shoulders, delighting as she pressed into him. His skin burned with a divine fire where she draped an arm across his shoulders, where her fingers grazed his scalp. He brushed against her skin, followed the shell of her ear with his nose. And he would not release her, not for anything.

"I brought you something," she whispered, still pressed tightly to him.

"Mmm."

"It's in my bag."

Reluctantly, Sandor let her pull away, but stayed close as she opened her bag at the table and rummaged through it. How, in only fifteen days, had he forgotten the sight of the golden strands hidden amongst the red? How did he not remember the constellation of freckles across her nose, or how her face pinked when she was happy? He kept his arm wrapped around her waist and nuzzled her hair, committing her smell to memory.

"I did the best I could," she was saying and Sandor looked to what she meant to show him.

Spread on the table was the portrait. As she promised, it wasn't perfect. A seam ran down the middle of Gregor's face and the boy Sandor once was looked as though he had lost his head then had it reattached. But his parents were reunited on the canvas, brought closer by Sansa's stitching. The stitches themselves were tiny, nearly invisible, but still present. He gently ran his finger down the longest seam, the one that had split his parents and felt the unburned side of his lips turn up. His words came back to him.

"I am in your debt."

Sansa leaned closer to Sandor, loving his warmth enveloping her. For now, this was enough.

"What will you do with it?" she asked curiously.

In response Sandor rolled up the painting and took her by the hand before leading her up the steps to the west tower. Once inside, he dropped her hand and reached behind the couch before the brazier. He felt Sansa watch him as he pulled out an old frame and carefully pin the canvas to the back. When he flipped it over, he showed her the final product before hanging it on the wall. Finished, Sandor returned to her side and kissed her again, missing her lips after so long.

"Do you wish to stay?" he asked as he cupped her cheeks in his hands. Her skin was soft and warm under his palms and he could no longer try to convince himself that she was an illusion.

"I do." She clasped his hands and tilted her face up for another kiss.

Sandor dodged, not wanting to be distracted, and rested his forehead to hers instead. "Would you wish to stay as my wife?"

"I do." Her voice was no more than a whisper, a breath of air between them.

"Say it again," he begged.

"I will marry you. I want to marry you. Yes, Sandor, yes."

He kissed her deeply then. One had slipped into her hair and the other slid down her back and pulled her flush to him again. The feel of her against him, willingly pressing herself to him, sighing into his mouth, had his blood boiling. He needed her now, needed to know he was hers.

"I have no septon," he groaned into her ear.

She held him closely. "We have a sept and witnesses. That is all we need. When a wandering septon comes this way, we can invite my family for the blessing."

Sansa felt bereft when Sandor pulled from her to rummage through a trunk. A bundle of yellow fabric tucked under his arm, he pulled her close with the other and kissed her again.

"We marry now, then." His lips brushed against hers as he spoke and then he was on her again.

"Yes, now," she giggled. She pulled away when he tried for another kiss. "It's nearly suppertime. Are we going now, or after?"

"Now," Sandor growled at her and pulled her down the steps of the west tower. He called through the Keep as they made their way to the tiny sept just off the courtyard. The servants followed behind them, Chip holding Alys and Clarence's hands, Jeyne carrying a tiny baby, Maester Owen escorting Tansy and Arianne. Once between the altars of the Father and the Mother, Sandor hesitated. "I don't know…" he mumbled before trailing off.

Sansa wasn't completely certain either, having seen only a few marriages in her village, but the words didn't seem as important as the intent. She took the hand not holding the bundle of cloth her both of hers. Later, she couldn't remember the exact words she said, but knew she meant every one of them. Sandor's words were few and simple. When neither of them could think of anything else, he unfurled the bundle. Sansa saw it was an old, yellow cloak with the three black Clegane hounds embroidered across the back.

"It was the one my father gave my mother," Sandor explained at her confused look. "It shows your lord husband will take care of his lady wife."

The fine cloth was draped over Sansa's shoulders and she stroked it gingerly before turning back to Sandor. It was time for the only vow she remembered being the same in every marriage.

"With this kiss I pledge my love," she looked up through her lashes, "and take you for my husband."

"With this kiss," Sandor repeated so softly only she could hear him, "I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife." His half burned lips gave the merest brush against hers and their witnesses cheered.

Sansa could eat little at supper. Sandor also seemed unwilling to let her, often stealing kisses from her. The staff all ate in the Great Hall that night to celebrate and Maester Owen stopped eating his own meal often to play. Chip had fallen asleep at the end of a table when Sandor placed her hand on Sansa's thigh and leaned close.

"What is your village's custom for the bedding ceremony?" he whispered.

She felt her face warm. "Nothing. The bedding is private."

"Good," he growled before grazing his teeth against her throat. "I hate the lords' custom." His lips worked against her neck for a time before he spoke again. "I want you in my bed."

His words went straight between her legs and she felt a needy throb. Sansa nodded and Sandor helped her to her feet. Without a word, he looped her arm around his and escorted her to the corridor behind the Great Hall. When the door shut behind them, he kissed her. When they passed a torch, she kissed him. At the bottom of the stairs they kissed. At each landing they held each other close and kissed. When they reached the top of the west tower, Sansa knew her hair, already messy from her day-long ride, was a lost cause, and her clothes where loose about her from his fumbling to free her from them.

Through the door, Sandor lifted her by the waist and Sansa wrapped her legs around him. Despite his leg, he carried her easily to the bed. Her hair spread around her head like an auburn fire and he trailed his kisses to the neck of her dress. He gently tugged her dress down and his lips followed the fabric. He worked his way around the mound of each breast before gently sucking at the nipples and continuing down her stomach. Sansa pulled her hands free of the sleeves and threaded through his thin hair. He kissed back up to her lips again before pressing a deep lingering his to her and sat up. In one movement he pulled her dress of past her feet with her underskirts. He discarded her smallclothes as well before laying back over her, still fully clothed.

Sansa's whole body tingled as he lay above her. The clothes he wore were rough, the clothes of a soldier rather than a lord, and they scraped against her in a way that made her writhe for more. One hand trailed down from his hair to his face, to his burns. They did not frighten her anymore and she caressed them dearly. They were a part of Sandor, a part of her husband. The word made her smile. His lips on a particular spot at her throat caused her hips to buck against him. Something grazed between her thighs and the gasped at the pleasure it provided her.

He groaned her name into her hair before pulling away again. Sansa sat up and watched as he quickly rose and undressed. His broad chest, covered in course hair and marred with scars of old cuts, was not an unfamiliar sight to her, though she had not time before to study him. Now she sat up, memorized the placement of each scar, the path his chest hair took as it narrowed down his stomach. His back was to her as he sat to remove his boots and she learned the play of his muscles working just beneath the skin. Then he was standing from the bed, bending to pull off his trousers, and then above her, between her legs and kissing her.

The touch of his skin against hers set a flame in Sansa hotter than what burned from his kisses alone. She could not stop touching him. Her hands went to his shoulders, down his sides, resting at his hips, before raveling back up to he shoulders again. She marveled at how rough his hands felt as he stroked her sides compared to how soft the skin hidden by his tunic felt. He was a man of contrasts, the roughness of his face against the gentleness with which he treated her, the softness of his thin hair against the thick ropes of muscles in his thighs between her own.

Sandor again found the point at her neck and she bucked against him. The feel of her slit sliding against his cock caused him to moan into her again. Propping himself up on one arm, he slid the other down her body. He cup a breast, grazed the nipple with his rough thumb and watched it peak for him. Then he slid it lower, feeling her body dip in at her waist, seeing her stomach muscles twitch under his touch. At the gentle flare of her hips, he slid his hand under her, feeling her buttocks and trailing down the back of her thigh. At her knee, he lifted her leg up and hooked her leg over his hip, opening her to him. A touch to her nether lips made him groan again. She was soaking wet… For him.

He kissed her deeply as he slid a finger inside of her, in awe as she pressed into his hand. He quickly added another digit and pumped them in and out, feeling her artlessly grinding against his hand for more. Sansa pouted beautifully when he pulled away to grasp his cock. He gave her bottom lip a nip before giving her another deep kiss. Breathless, he broke the kiss and rested his forehead to hers, staring in her eyes. He wanted so much to lose control, to make her his in every way, but she had chosen to come back and deserved more than just a quick, hard fuck.

"Don't let me hurt you," he rasped.

Sansa nodded, eyes wide. She knew he would never intentionally hurt her. But the young women in her village had talked about the bedding, about how there had been blood and pain. And then she felt him sliding his manhood up and down her lips before pressing to her opening. And he paused. Her eyes darted to his and he looked… uncertain. Breathing deeply, Sansa nodded again. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he slid inside and Sansa gasped. The tiny pinch of pain was nothing to the delight at being filled so completely by the very man above her.

Sandor paused, every muscle in his body quivering, demanding that he plow into the little bird and get his fill. But he waited a moment. A man's cock would be a new feeling and he couldn't frighten her now, not when she was now so open with him. Slowly, too slowly for him, he withdrew and pressed in again. A grunt escaped his lips when his hips met hers. No whore had ever been as wet for him. At his third thrust, Sansa sighed his name and pulled him down for another kiss.

Sansa shuddered. Her leg was hooked over him, his hand gripping her hip. His chest rubbed against her breasts with each thrust, the hair tickling and scratching. And where they joined was too much, but it wasn't enough. She clutched at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, trying to bring every part of him into her. Something started to tighten within her as his hips began to move faster and harder. She let out a gasping moan and held more tightly. Nothing the other women in the village told her about the wedding night had ever prepared her for this. She tried to match him thrust for thrust, needing more, needing something she couldn't name. The tightening increased until she threw her head back with a gasp.

Sandor watched as she flushed deeply, her eyes tight as she cried out at each movement of his hips. Suddenly, she let out a cry and her cunt squeezed around him. The sight of her pleasure finally threw him over the edge and he could not stop himself from slamming into her. Her hands were soft against his face as he grunted and released. He kissed her again as the last of his seed spilled into her. Belonging to her and having her for himself was too good and he could not pull away. Just before his supporting arm gave out, Sandor pulled from Sansa's quim and rolled to lay beside her.

Sansa curled into his arms and traced circles into the chest hair next to her cheek. Warmth covered her and she felt the bedcovers settle over them. She hummed tunelessly as Sandor played with her hair and held her against him. Their breathing soon matched and deepened and she slipped peacefully into sleep.

Midway through the night, Sansa woke to Sandor's large, rough hands gently sliding across her body again. His touch caused her to sigh and she pulled him in for a lazy kiss. Within moments, he was above her, inside of her, and she felt complete again. Their second coupling was nearly as slow as their first, but in a sleepy, comforting way. When they finished, he rested his forehead to hers again. She could not see him in the dark, but felt his eyes on hers.

"I love you," she whispered.

His face was relaxed under her hands as he gave her a chaste kiss. The words hung in the dark between them until his nose brushed hers and he whispered, simply, "yes." Yes, he loved her. Yes, he needed her as much as she needed him. Yes, he knew she was happy and wanted to stay forever.

A frantic pounding at the door and Clarence's calls of "m'lord" startled Sandor awake. Sansa murmured sleepily as he rose and he pressed a kiss to her temple before donning a pair of trousers and circling around the partition. In the grey pre-dawn light, the old man looked unnaturally pale.

"M'lord, the castle is under attack!"

Sandor looked back at Sansa's gasp. None of her things had been brought to his room, so she had pulled his tunic over hear head. The sleeves hung past her hands and the hem only just covered her knees. With her hair mussed from sex and sleep, her lips still red from his kisses, she was the most beautiful sight he had seen. For a heartbeat, he wanted nothing more than to carry her back into bed and bury himself in her satin depths, castle be damned. Then he remembered the servants. Four women, a maester, an old man, a child, and a newborn. He was the only one capable of protecting them. He turned back to Clarence. He had once been the master at arms, decades ago, when a kinder man was lord of Clegane Keep. But now his hair was grey, his back hunched, and he barely had the strength to carry a tray of food up the tower steps. He was all Sandor had.

"My mother's solar, does it still have the strongest doors?" The old man nodded. "Get everyone there and bar the door. Don't let anyone in." Sandor crossed to his new bride in long strides. "Dress quickly and go with Clarence," he gently commanded. "The east tower is the oldest part of the Keep, and the strongest. You'll be safe there."

Sansa felt her heart in her throat. "What about you?" She watched him pick up the yellow cloak from the day before.

"Do you remember what this means?" She nodded. _My lord husband will protect his lady wife._ "I will protect you. But you have to do what I say. Get dressed. Go with Clarence."

Sandor was a blur through her tears. His large form moved about the room, pulling on a tunic, yanking on boots, dropping a chain mail shirt over his head, and strapping on a sword belt. Sansa let out a shaky breath when he approached her again and held her face between his palms. He wiped the tears from her cheeks before tenderly kissing each closed eye and her lips. Without a word, he charged out the door and down the steps. She ducked back behind the partition with her dress and clumsily pulled it on. Her body ached from their lovemaking and her fingers were clumsy from so little sleep.

As dressed as she could get, she followed Clarence down the tower stairs. Above the Great Hall, he led her down the corridor past Maester Owen's corridors. Everyone joined her and Clarence and they continued down the stairs of the east tower. Clarence opened the door at the base of the tower and waved everyone through. It was then Sansa heard the noises behind her.

Turning back, she saw the door to the Great Hall was open, light spilling into the hall. But it was what she heard that drew her away from the group. Over the clash of steel and wood, she heard voices. Too familiar voices. Looking through the opening, she gasped.

Sandor in front of the high table, pressed back to it. He was fighting back four men simultaneously. Her father. Her brother Jon. Her brother Robb. And their friend Theon. Their attacks were random, coming at him from one side then the other. Even from behind, she saw Sandor was already exhausted, knocking away blows with his sword while catching swinging limbs with his opposite hand.

And then she was grabbed from behind. Without realizing, Sansa had stepped into the Great Hall and a man from her village, waiting or raiding, caught her and pulled her to him.

"I found her, Lord Mayor," her captor called.

That proved to be Sandor's undoing. At the man's words, he turned to look, locking eyes with her. In a blink, Theon broke through his mail and cut him in the side as Robb hit his head with a spade. And Sandor, always so strong and powerful, crumpled in a helpless heap. Sansa cried out and struggled to get away from the man who held her. Remembering the knife Arya gave her, she pulled it from her pocket, dropping the sheath to the ground, and pressing the point into the man's side. He let her go instantly and Sansa ran to Sandor's side.

"_Leave_ him," she screamed, too late. "Don't _hurt_ him!"

Theon caught her before she could reach her husband and wrapped his arms tightly around her. "It's alright," he cooed. He smelled like horse and sweat and it made her stomach turn. "You're safe now, Sansa. You can come home. The Hound won't hurt you again."

"He never hurt me," she sobbed, staring at his lifeless body. Had it really been only hours since he had made her feel so alive? Now a great, gaping hole was opening in her and her knees gave out from beneath her.

"And he never will." Theon still held her as another pair of shoes, large and worn stopped in front of her. She realized they were her father's. Her honorable father, who always kept his word. Her loving father, who would never raised his voice when she was a child. Her gentle father, who would never hurt an innocent man.

"Sansa, there's no need to cry." Eddard Stark knelt in front of her. "You can come home and never return to this place. We can forget this ever happened. Theon has even agreed to marry you, no matter what the Hound may have done."

Sansa's stomach turned again. Marry Theon? She struggled to pull away from the man she had only ever seen as a brother. "No," she choked out, the only word she had the power to say. "No, no."

Sounds of the rest of the world began to wash over her. Crashes, thuds, and muffled screams began to flood back into her ears. Heavy steps dashed back and forth, the strides all wrong. The banging of overturned tables and the crashing of doors caused her to jump. So much noise in what had once been a place of solitude and quiet. Everything was wrong. There were too many men running in and out of the Great Hall, too many voices, too many and too much. Sansa could only cover her ears and close her eyes in an attempt to hide away from all the wrongness of it.

This had to be a bad dream. If she waited long enough, she would wake up. She would be in Sandor's arms. He would touch her gently; kiss her with a tenderness meant only for her. He would slip into her aching womanhood and complete her and everything would be as it should be.

When she opened her eyes, it was all still wrong. She saw more men from her village. The baker carried a bundle of cloth past the miller with fists full of glittering jewelry. The toymaker ripping down the tapestries she had spent hours cleaning and mending. Her home was being torn apart around her. And her lord husband, the man who promised to protect her lay just out of reach, motionless.

"Lord Mayor," a man spoke above her. "There's a door in the east tower that's heavily barred. We can't break it down."

"Leave them." Sansa rose. This was still her home. "The servants are innocent and are to be left alone." She locked eyes with the Lord Mayor, feeling numb to his surprise. "I will not marry Theon. I will not leave. This is my home. I have married Sandor and am Lady Clegane. I want my staff left alone. I want you and your men out of my home." She knew tears still spilled down her cheeks, but her words were steady through the end.

This was no longer her father. He had broken his word; he attacked her home and lord husband. But it was too difficult to see him as her enemy as well. A vice grip closed around her arm.

"You will come back, Sansa," Theon snarled in her ear. "No other man will have you now that the Hound has. If that beast put a child in your belly, I'll even let you keep it."

"He's not a beast," she snapped. "He never hurt anyone. Sandor wasn't there when the Mountain killed the Lannisters. Sandor didn't burn the fields or hurt the people. He released us from his brother. And you thanked him by attacking him. _You_ are the _monsters_!" Her eyes swept over Theon, her brothers, and the man who had been her father. "You are not welcome here. _Leave_."

Lord Mayor Eddard Stark nodded and the four backed away from her. They each disappeared to a different part of the castle, rounding up as many men as they could find before leaving out the front gates. Sansa remained rooted to one spot, eyes still on her lord husband. He was so still. Far too still.

When the Keep grew quiet, she took her first tentative step, then another. In a matter of moments, she was beside him, holding him, struggling to roll his massive frame to his back. And he groaned.

Sansa's heart stopped. His face still had some warmth but was cooling under her fingers. Resting her ear to his chest, she could hear the faintest thumb of his heart beating, the tiniest intake of breath. He still _lived_!

She pressed a swift kiss to his lips. "You owe me a debt," she whispered. "Live and your dept to me will be paid." She kissed him again before running back to the east tower and pounded the door. "_Open up_!" she screamed. "They're gone and Sandor's hurt! Maester Owen, I need you!"

The door flew open and the maester was flying down the corridor behind her, kneeling beside Sandor's body. Everything was a blur but soon the cut to Sandor's side was closed and bandaged and a cool cloth pressed to the lump forming on his head. The eight of them carried his limp form to the solar they had previously been hiding in. From there, Sansa took over the running of the castle, directing the restoration as she tended to Sandor's unconscious form. As she did, words Maester Owen said to her ran through her mind.

"A maester has the knowledge to heal," he had told her, "but there is a greater power than even that."

"What?" She wanted to hope, wanted to believe she wouldn't be parted from the very man she had been joined to less than a day.

"Love, my lady. When I was a boy, I heard stories about there being magic in love, that it can heal the deepest wounds. I have heard the stories of the Cleganes and seen the pain in him. I believe you have healed him once. I know you can do it again."

In his sick room, Sansa took Sandor's hand and squeezed it. "I love you," she told him. "I don't know when that happened. I was so scared about being away from everything I knew that I don't know when I began to notice you watching me, listening to my songs. You never said anything, but I knew you were there. And then you saved me in the woods. I thought I couldn't stay here, but I really needed to have my fear taken away. That man showed me that you were never a danger to me. And then you started to do kind things for me, so show me yourself that you cared for me. The flowers, giving me the library, helping me in my reading. I wish others could see what I see, could understand that you are a good man. I love you so much for that goodness." She paused to kiss the knuckles of his hand. "Don't leave me. Not now that I've only just found you."

As the sun set, Sandor began to stir on the couch he had been laid on. His lids were heavy as he opened them, but the sight before him was worth the struggle. Sansa sat on the chair beside him, leaning over him and smiling.

"You're awake," she exclaimed. And then her lips were on him and that was all Sandor could want.

Sandor recovered quickly, to everyone's amazement, especially Maester Owen's. In only days, he was off the couch and walking the castle again. In less than a month, he was able to climb the tower steps without collapsing from exhaustion. The first night they finally shared their bed again, Sansa conceived their first child.

For the first time in his memory, Sandor Clegane's home was one filled with laughter and happiness and love. And they all lived happily ever after.

The End.


End file.
